


sweet like honey

by nanasekei



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2019 Fills [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Human Disaster Tony Stark, Insecure Steve Rogers, M/M, New Relationship, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 04:04:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanasekei/pseuds/nanasekei
Summary: Steve wakes up in his boyfriend's Malibu mansion. However, Tony is nowhere to be found.





	sweet like honey

Steve turned on the bed, enjoying the softness against his skin. He had just blinked his eyes open to the ceiling, only a little awake as the line between what was real and what he was dreaming about started to draw itself in his mind.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force his mind to come to its previous image – strong, skilled hands giving him a backrub as a silky voice whispered something in his ear about promises, love and... horses?

The realization of the dream’s weirdness – horses, really, why would they be talking about  _ horses  _ – jolted him back rudely to reality, and Steve turned again, halfway aware that he was definitely going to fall from the bed if he kept moving like that, when it hit him:  _ Wait a minute, I sleep on a futon _ .

He sat up, suddenly wide awake, and the room erupted into light.

“Good morning,” said a robotic voice, as Steve took in the obscenely luxurious room around him. Automatic curtains opened on the large windows, letting strong sunlight in and showing off a view of a bright blue sky. “It’s 9 a.m.”

Steve blinked, his breath uneven as he adjusted to the view around him.  _ Right _ , he thought. He was not at home. In fact, he was miles away from his old, rumpled futon.

He looked at the bed. It was actually impressive it took him so long to remember this wasn’t his apartment, because the huge, fluffy mattress was nothing like where he was used to sleeping. Against its obscene size, Steve felt even smaller than usual, and somehow more naked in the stark white light.

Oh, yeah, and there was that, too: he was naked as the day he was born.

That in itself wasn’t a surprise, though. Now that his brain was catching up to the new reality of being awake, he could remember a few things: the surreal feeling of flying in a private jet, the anxiety bubbling in his stomach as he continuously checked his phone, the taste of champagne the flight waitress (a  _ flight waitress _ !) kept offering him.

He remembered feeling dizzy and less nervous when they landed, and then the night that followed was a blur of touches and whispers and hungry, desperate kisses. His thighs burned when he shifted and he remembered the same hands he had been dreaming about gripping them strongly, lifting him up, carrying him clumsily across the room in a hurry to get to the bed while whispers of  _ Fuck, I missed you  _ were pressed against his mouth.

Steve’s cheeks warmed at the memory. Yeah, he thought. He knew very well where he was.

“The weather in Malibu is 69 degrees with 53% humidity,” the voice—JARVIS, Steve remembered—continued, unbothered by his silence. “The surf conditions are not recommended for beginners, with chest-to-shoulder high lines. High tide will be at—”

“Uh,” Steve interrupted, because he wasn’t very interested in the weather forecast. “Good morning?”

There was a millisecond of silence before JARVIS replied: “Good morning, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve smiled at the ceiling, even though he wasn’t sure if JARVIS cared about gestures like that.

Then he took a deep breath, looking around the room. Although the blatant wealth of everything made him uncomfortable, a part of him wanted to take in everything in minutious detail. He had never been here before, and the knowledge that it was where Tony slept when he wasn’t in New York was enough to make it fascinating.

If Steve was honest, he hadn’t taken Tony seriously, the first few times he'd offered to fly him over. He knew Tony wouldn’t  _ lie _ , but the idea just seemed too surreal, for Tony to waste so much time and money to hire a private jet to fly in someone who had never even boarded a _ plane _ before.

Of course, in Tony’s world, time and money were seemingly never-ending resources. It was such a different world from the one Steve inhabited that, from the beginning, the idea of their relationship seemed like an offensive joke. When Steve couldn’t deny his feelings anymore, he had almost wanted to kick himself for falling into such an obviously doomed path. It was strange enough that Tony wanted to sleep with him – to imagine that he’d want something more was just laughable.

So when things got more steady, Steve started waiting for the other shoe to drop. Except it didn’t. The only thing that happened was that Tony got more insistent about flying him over to his Malibu mansion, and one night, they were stuffing themselves with pizza on Steve’s kitchen and the inebriant combination of grease and cheese and Tony made Steve bold enough to reply  _ You know what? Fine _ .

Tony’s head snapped towards him so fast Steve feared he might have hurt his neck. His eyes were so wide that for a moment Steve was scared he fucked up somehow, by replying seriously to something that was actually just a very long joke, until Tony’s face broke in a blinding, huge grin and Steve’s heart felt too big for his chest.

And now there he was, in Tony’s bed.

Steve scrambled for a sheet to wrap around himself, unsure of where his clothes had fallen on the room. Even though no one was there, he was feeling a little exposed, and he wished Tony would show up soon.

He laid back with his head over the big pillow, as soft as a cloud. Where  _ was _ Tony, anyway?

“Uh,” Steve tried, unsure of how to do this. “JARVIS?”

“How can I help you, sir?” The robotic voice replied immediately. Steve jumped a little.

“Uh,” he said again. It still seemed weird to ask a computer for instructions, but he knew he had to get used to Tony’s life if he wanted to be a part of it. “Is Tony in the bathroom?”

“No, sir.”

“Oh.” Steve frowned. That was strange. He couldn’t think of where else would Tony go, if he still intended to come back to bed. And… he had to, right? Steve had just arrived last night. Tony wouldn’t just wake up and leave him alone.

Except… well, that was exactly what Tony used to do, wasn’t it? It was his well-known M.O. after one-night stands. Steve knew that for a fact, because he heard it from Tony himself (and, okay, maybe at a few tabloids too, once he accepted he was falling for a celebrity and he wanted to get at least a glimpse of Tony’s world). Tony would wake up, get dressed and go to his lab as if it were a regular day, and the person he had hooked up with would be left to the reliable but cold professionalism of JARVIS and Ms. Potts, Tony’s assistant.

It was one hell of a douche move, in Steve’s opinion, but at least Tony was aware of this, if the guilty look on his face when he told Steve was anything to go by. And it was in the past, Steve knew, an action belonging to a version of Tony that was a lot more careless, irresponsible, sometimes cruel, and, from what Steve gathered, more than a little unhappy.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, his stomach clutching in little knots of anxiety he wished he could stop from forming. It wasn’t fair to imagine Tony would do that to him. People changed, and that didn’t jive with the Tony he knew – who, yes, could be a little aloof at times, but was also endlessly caring, generous, and tender with such a dedicated focus it made Steve’s head spin.

So Steve turned and tried to go back to sleep. But worry kept crawling up the back of his head with incessant thoughts – what if Tony wasn’t coming back to bed, after all? What if he expected  _ Steve _ to leave instead? Yes, he had offered countless times to fly Steve over, but what if he had changed his mind? Maybe just seeing Steve walking inside his mansion was enough to make Tony realize he had made a huge mistake.

Steve stirred, annoyed with himself. “JARVIS,” he said finally. “Do you know when Tony is coming back?”

There was a pause, which already threw Steve for a loop. He had noticed JARVIS’ replies were usually instantaneous. “I’m afraid I can’t know for certain, sir.”

Steve’s eyes widened as he turned to look at the ceiling. “Do you know where he is?” He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Yes.” JARVIS’ reply was immediate, which eased a little of Steve’s worry. Tony could be trying to get rid of him, but at least he wasn’t  _ missing _ .

He waited for a moment to see if JARVIS was going to add anything, but, as he didn’t, Steve decided to cut through the chase: “And where is that?”

The longest pause so far preceded JARVIS’ words: “I apologize, but I can’t say, sir.”

Steve sat up. “What?” He forced himself to draw in a sharp breath. “Why not?”

“Mr. Stark does not wish to be disturbed.”

Steve felt as if a bucket of cold, freezing water had just been dropped over his head. What the hell did that mean? Tony flew him in, slept with him, and now had vanished without a word of warning, apparently not even wanting Steve to know where he was? Nothing made sense, and Steve’s stomach clenched painfully, his breath shortening.

He needed his inhaler. He stood up, walking across the bedroom to find the place where Tony had removed his pants. If Steve closed his eyes, he could still feel Tony’s hurried, clumsy yanking, as if any shred of fabric covering Steve’s body was a personal offense against him.

After a few puffs, Steve looked through the windows again, and that was when he got it.

He was being dismissed.

_ That _ was Tony’s M.O. He wasn’t kicking Steve out, and he wouldn’t, but he had left, and he most certainly didn’t plan to come back until Steve had realized what was going on and disappeared.

Steve’s face burned. He blinked rapidly, trying to grasp at straws to convince himself that it wasn’t like that, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Tony had only offered to fly him over. He hadn’t said anything about wanting Steve to  _ stay _ .

Steve forced himself to take a steadying breath. His eyes were starting to burn, too, but he wasn’t going to humiliate himself like that. He could do this later, in whatever cheap motel in Malibu he could actually afford to spend the night in while he made calls to attempt to figure out how he was going to be able to pay for a plane ticket back to New York.

Unless—Steve shivered at the thought that Tony’s jet could be right outside,  _ waiting for him _ . That was—God, that was probably true, which made everything worse. Steve thought he maybe would have preferred to go into debt with the plane ticket.

He hurried to get himself dressed. His clothes were all rumpled and wrinkled, and, when he finished, the stark contrast he could feel between himself and the filthily rich environment around him was too much. He needed to get out of there, now.

“Sir?” JARVIS said, when Steve started walking towards the door. “Where are you going?”

“Aren’t you supposed to say there’s a car waiting for me outside?” Steve replied with barely controlled hostility. His hands were shaking like crazy as he picked up his phone and stuck it inside his front pocket.

“I have received no instructions of that nature,” JARVIS responded. As Steve walked towards the door, he added, “Wait, sir.”

Steve stopped, taken aback by how weirdly anxious the A.I. sounded. “Look, I don’t want any of my clothes ironed or anything,” he said. “I just need to—”

“Sir, I believe you might be mistakenly thinking a dismissal protocol is in place, but I assure you, it is not,” JARVIS said.

That stopped Steve on his tracks. JARVIS wouldn’t lie, right? What reason would he have to? “Then what is happening?”

There was a pause where Steve had the distinct mental image of someone gritting their teeth. “I’m afraid I cannot say, exactly,” JARVIS answered. “But if I may be so bold as to give a suggestion, sir, the mansion’s kitchen is quite lovely.”

Steve tilted his head at the ceiling. “What?”

“It is a carefully designed and decorated space,” JARVIS insisted. “That is most certainly worth the visit.”

Steve frowned. Was that the A.I.’s attempt to cheer him up? “Thanks, but I think I should probably—”

“Mr. Rogers,” JARVIS interrupted, which made Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “I  _ strongly  _ recommend you visit the kitchen before you do anything else.”

“Uh,” Steve said, more than a little suspicious. “Okay?”

“Thank you, sir,” JARVIS said, and Steve detected a strong relief in his words. “It’s the first door on the right, down the stairs.”

Steve followed his directions, a little wary, but mostly curious. There on the right, as JARVIS instructed, was a door to the living room, which was connected straight into the kitchen.

He wasn’t sure of what he was expecting when he walked inside, but a strong, delicious smell of food was definitely not it.

The smell took over Steve’s nostrils as soon as he stepped inside. It smelled sweet and sugary, like – pancakes?

And right behind the kitchen island was –

“Tony?”

Tony turned towards him as fast as if he’d seen a ghost. His hair was tousled and there was a smudge of something brown on his cheek.

“Oh, hi,” he said, staring at Steve as if he was half expecting him to grow a second head. His clothes, a tank top and sweatpants, also seemed mussed, but it was hard to see under the apron he had on. “You’re here.”

Steve was a little lost on the contrast between the apron and the tank top that showed off Tony’s well-toned, tanned arms. “Hi,” he said finally.

Tony seemed to take a few moments to digest that, and then something behind him started beeping, and he turned quickly to remove what Steve could distinguish as a pan from the fire. Tony threw it loudly over the counter, before turning to Steve again.

“You’re  _ here _ . Okay.” Tony breathed, his big brown eyes fixated on Steve with a blank expression. “You’re… not supposed to be here.”

The words stung, and Steve flinched, his previous embarrassment returning with full strength, after being momentarily held back by the weirdness of everything. “I know,” he said, and hated how small his voice sounded. “I’m going to—”

“No,” Tony said, walking to him in a sudden hurry. He held onto Steve’s wrist, his touch and eyes acting like a weird  neutralizer for Steve’s anger. He looked shocked at Steve’s suggestion. “I don’t want you to go. I--I mean, what? Of course I don’t want you to go. Why, why would you think that?”

Steve just stared at him. “JARVIS said he couldn’t tell me where you went.”

“Right,” Tony said. His free hand went to his hair, going through brown locks sprinkled with silver that Steve knew were very, very soft. “So you decided to—”

“Sir, if I may,” JARVIS interjected. The A.I.’s voice sounded apprehensive, but not nearly as anxious as before. “I believe Mr. Rogers assumed he was receiving the ‘good morning, Cinderella’ protocol.”

Tony shut his eyes. “Right. The—Jesus, I actually gave it that name.” He drew in a sharp breath and opened his eyes again. “Okay, I can explain.”

Steve waited in silence, and then Tony sighed, looking away.

“Okay, okay, so— listen, sometimes I forget JARVIS is—well, not a person, but an A.I. literally programmed to not be able to disobey an order from me, okay?” His free hand gestured frantically as if that would somehow make it easier for Steve to understand. “So when I went down to the kitchen, I was just thinking about how I was already late for what I planned, and I didn’t know when you were waking up, and I wanted it to be a surprise and my personal best time for making an omelet is still, like, forty-five minutes. So”--he inhaled--“I told him not to tell you what I was doing. And it didn’t occur to me that he wouldn’t be able to evaluate the situation and just  _ tell you  _ when it became obvious you were thinking something really bad and it would be worse to let you go, even if it ruined the surprise.”

Steve stared at him, taking in the whirlwind of words. “What was it?”

“What?”

“That you had planned,” Steve replied. “You didn’t say.”

“Oh,” Tony said. He was still looking at Steve as if he was a bomb that might go off at any second, and he didn’t know for sure which wire to cut. “I. Hmm. I made you breakfast.”

It was only then that Steve remembered to look at the oven behind the island. Next to the pancakes Tony had rudely thrown over the counter, there was a tray with a jar of what seemed to be orange juice, two glasses, and a plate with  generous slices of bacon .

He looked back at Tony, taking in his messy state – the brown smudge on his cheek, his tousled hair, the dirty apron. Warmth bubbled inside Steve like a pleasant bath. He felt a strong urge to touch him.

“You take forty-five minutes to make an omelet?” he asked instead.

Tony raised his eyebrows, as if he couldn’t quite gauge what the question meant. “That’s what you got from—I mean, yeah.” He paused, his eyes searching Steve’s face as he analyzed his reaction. Steve kind of wanted to hug him. “Rhodey says it tastes great, though. So it’s worth it. Probably.”

Steve smiled. “Can I try it?”

Tony blinked for a while, as if the question was an absolutely wonderful suggestion he hadn’t thought of until this minute, and then opened a shy, bright grin that made Steve a little dizzy. “Yeah? I mean, I—I made it for you.”

He turned before Steve could reply, and they walked around the island, getting to the counter next to the oven where Tony had placed the tray.

Only then it hit Steve—the tray.

“Were you going to…” His cheeks warmed as he eyed the carefully placed silvery next to the plates. “Uh. Were we going to eat it in bed?”

Tony stared at him seeming almost wary, as if he was choosing his next words as carefully as he set up the tray. “Yeah.” Then he sighed and gesticulated aimlessly. “That was the, uh—idea. Not the best execution, I’ll admit it.”

“It looks good,” Steve said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. Then he eyed the pancakes a little regretfully. “I, uh. I can’t eat gluten, though.”

“I know,” Tony said immediately. “I know that. I remembered that.” He raised his finger at Steve as if he was defending himself from a grave accusation. “Every single one of these pancakes are completely, 100% gluten free. Pinky-swear, honestly, I had JARVIS check through all the ingredients. Right, JARVIS?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Thank you! Right,” he repeated, pointing at Steve as if he had been arguing against it. Then, as Steve didn’t say anything, he seemed to lose a little bit of steam. “Am I freaking you out? I—” He took a sharp breath, looking around, before finally looking back at Steve again. “Okay, full disclosure, I’m not very used to this. I… didn’t sleep with many people since I disabled that stupid Cinderella protocol. And I never made anyone breakfast before. Also, since we’re laying it all out, I’m not usually awake at this time either, unless I’m  _ still  _ awake, and—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupted, laying his hands on his shoulders. “It’s okay.”

Tony seemed to relax the slightest amount, but he was still staring at Steve with those big, worried and – Steve was beginning to realize – irresistible Bambi eyes. “You thought I was kicking you out. That seems like the opposite of okay.”

“Only because I thought you’d regret flying me in.”

“I thought  _ you’d  _ regret coming,” Tony said, and Steve, unable to help himself anymore, leaned his head upwards and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

“I didn’t,” he whispered against Tony lips, humming with approval when Tony’s hands held his waist, pulling his body closer. “Last night was great. The pancakes look great. You—” Steve’s breath catches in his throat, the words getting harder to push off. “You’re pretty great.”

“Thanks,” Tony said to Steve’s lips, right before he leaned forward to capture them again. This kiss was longer than the last, and the only reason Steve stopped was because he could taste a little sweetness in Tony’s mouth that he knew came from testing his food multiple times until it felt good enough.

“I really like you,” Steve burst out when they broke apart, because it was hanging from the tip of his tongue and he couldn’t hold it in. Tony blinked at him, wordless, and Steve decided not to wait for an answer. “And I want my pancakes.”

“Okay,” Tony said, seeming a little flabbergasted. His smile began to grow a moment afterwards, as if he was still processing what was happening. “Okay, yeah, anything you want.”

“And I bet I can lower your omelet time to thirty minutes.”

“I bet you can,” Tony agreed, and, as he came closer, brushing their noses, Steve decided that, before he got to taste the pancakes, one more taste of Tony’s mouth wouldn’t hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> For the square "Breakfast in Bed" on my Happy Steve Bingo card.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I appreciate comments and kudos. You can also [reblog the fic on tumblr](https://elcorhamletlive.tumblr.com/post/188008867480/sweet-like-honey-nanasekei-marvel-cinematic).


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